Page 61 of Rush of Jealousy

“Threat? Really, Graham?”

“Anyone who comes between me and you is a threat, Angela.”

I swallow and prop my hands on my hips. On the other side of the wall of muscle, I see Z running his hands through his wayward hair. He looks more stressed now than he did at the river when he first shared his true feelings for me.

I clear my throat. “You need to calm down.” And then I see Graham’s focus shift from my face. Down my throat. Settling on the base of my neck.

Shit.

His finger hooks the chain—the one I completely forgot I was wearing—pulling it free from the shield of my coat. I can feel the tension build from the stiffness of his back as he examines each side of the heart. Protectively, my hands move up to cover his, worrying that he is going to yank it and break the one reminder I have left of Zander before everything changed.

“Please…” My eyes beg for him not to do anything rash.

“I never want to see you wear another man’s jewelry,” he snarls. “Ever again.”

My hands fall to my side, and Graham releases his hold of my silver heart. He looks disgusted, and I feel the pang of remorse for putting both these men in this position. I never wanted this to ever happen.

“Let’s just all go home, and we can work this out tomorrow,” I suggest softly. I need to de-escalate this fast or there is going to be a brawl on the sidewalk.

“Work what out, Angie? What is there to work out? Huh? Did you run off with him the second he got back into town?” Of course he was keeping tabs on Zander. The man has a shattered moral compass. “Are you twotogether?”

I flinch over his words. I know he is referring to sex. He thinks so low of me. That is always his go-to reaction.

I hold my hands up. “Just stop. I am in no mood.”

“And you think I am in an amicable mood? You disappear for a couple of hours, then come back swapping spit with some boy and wearing his heart around your neck.” He tosses his hands up. “How the hell do you expect me to react?”

I see Zander approaching from my periphery, moving around Graham. “Listen, this is on me. I initiated. I have zero regrets. But this was not her doing.”

Graham narrows his eyes and looks from me to Zander and then back again. I can tell he is trying to work out the timeline in his head. Trying to figure out why he didn’t see this coming. Good luck. I am as clueless as he seems to be.

“I’m going to go in my house and go to bed. Good night, you two.” I stomp up to the door and then turn to look down at the two men who each want something I can’t give them. “But for the love of everyone who lives on this block, please don’t make me call the cops.”

I open my door and lock up for the night. I don’t have time for the testosterone comparison showdown happening on the sidewalk. They can size each other up until their dicks freeze and fall off. I am in no mood for this pissing contest.

When I am about to climb the stairs up to my room, Claire catches up with me. “Angie? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Zander told me he loved me.” I choke on the words.

“Oh shit. Wow. I knew he had a thing for you—all of us could tell. But I never thought he would act on it. I mean, he took long enough to act on it. I thought he had given up,” she rambles.

I start climbing the stairs. “I feel like I could throw up. I just want things to go back to the way they were. I would rather live life without knowing this added information.”

She gives me a hug outside my bedroom and rubs my back soothingly with her hands.

“Well, this sure complicates things,” she mutters.

I relax into her arms and cry.

When I get myself together, I go into my room, take off my new necklace, and do a watered-down version of my nighttime routine. I toss on sweats and crawl into the comfort of my familiar bed.

I close my eyes, but every time I relax my mind, thoughts of Zander’s disappointed face creep in, haunting me with the memory that my friend is gone.

I broke his heart. But my heart is broken too. Because hurting him, hurts me. Right now, I cannot see a future with Zander. I doubt I ever could.

Needing a distraction, I grab my laptop from my nightstand and open up my blog specific email. I sift through the dozens of questions until I find one that I could have written myself.

Dear Bad Advice,

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